


Biology Lesson

by K_Hanna_Korossy



Series: John Sheppard 101 [7]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 16:27:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5832589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Hanna_Korossy/pseuds/K_Hanna_Korossy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tag to "Hot Zone." Why did friends have to be so ridiculously fragile?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Biology Lesson

 

“Well, that was fun.”

“Yes, discovering the universe has found yet another way to kill you is always exhilarating.” Maybe his sarcasm was a little sharper than normal, but Rodney McKay figured he was entitled. An hour ago he’d been on the verge of dying horribly from a nanite invasion of his brain; the fact he was now alive and well didn’t completely nullify the effects.

“I don’t mean that, I mean Elizabeth and…never mind.”

Rodney narrowed his eyes. Even preoccupied with finding the Wraith hadn’t created the nanites, it hadn’t escaped him that when he and Carson interrupted Sheppard and Elizabeth’s little meeting, neither had looked too happy. “I meant to ask you about that—what did happen between you two?” His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

The major shook his head. “Just a little disagreement as to how we should have done things, no big—” He suddenly wobbled, putting a hand against the wall to steady himself. John’s expression was as surprised as Rodney figured his own was, which oddly didn’t do a thing to reassure him.

“Major?”

He’d nearly forgotten Carson was walking with them, but the doctor shoved Rodney aside in his haste to get to Sheppard’s side. For once, Rodney wasn’t holding any grudges.

“Major, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I…I just got dizzy for a minute.” He frowned at Rodney. “I thought you said that thing was safe!”

“What…? Wait, the EM pulse didn’t cause this!” Rodney eyed Beckett as the man began checking the major’s vitals. “I told you, I’ve been around more EMPs than you’ll ever come across in your lifetime.”

“Somehow I don’t find that really reassuring.”

“Unless…if you somehow got the—” The open doors around him suddenly registered and Rodney slumped in relief. No more nanovirus, no new viruses. “Never mind.”

Sheppard’s brow was still drawn together, and he opened his mouth for some doubtless staggeringly inane comment when Carson cut in. “Rodney, how shielded are the jumpers?”

The change of topic threw him only for a second. “The jumpers? Well, I wouldn’t advise flying them into the sun, but they’re shielded against your basic atmospheric and spatial radiation.” It only took a second more to realize what prompted a doctor to ask a question like that, a doctor who was examining Major Sheppard, and what Rodney came up with wasn’t reassuring at all. “Why?” he asked warily.

“Because Major Sheppard’s showing some early signs of radiation sickness.”            

Rodney felt the blood drain from his face, just as he saw it flow out of John’s. “Severe?”

“No, there’re barely any signs of dermal burns—that’s a good indication right there—but enough you’ll probably feel a wee bit miserable the next two days or so.” That last was to Sheppard.

The major looked skeptical. “Just two days? I can still have kids, keep my hair, all that stuff, right, Doc?”

He was trying to look skeptical, anyway, Rodney suddenly realized. What he really was, was scared. He didn’t know a fraction of what Rodney did about radiation and its effects on the body, information _he_ was trying very hard not to think about just then, but Sheppard wasn’t stupid.

But he also was, for better or for worse, Rodney’s friend. That meant it actually mattered how he felt, and that he was worth the effort to reassure. Rodney snorted, and cut in before Carson could give some sort of patented, completely useless medical blather about how John would probably be fine and one day father a whole clan of little Sheppards. “Oh, right, because who cares if we had to blow up one of our limited number of naquadah generators and almost you too in the process as long as the _hair_ is fine.” Okay, so it was his kind of reassurance. John would get it.

And he did. “Spoken like a man who’s stranded a galaxy away from the nearest bottle of Rogaine,” Sheppard retorted, but there was more color in his cheeks now. Good. Sympathy would have been more painful than kind. Rodney knew that because he felt the same way, both in facing his own death before, and now having for a moment faced visions of John’s. It had to be, by far, one of the lousiest parts of the whole friendship thing.

Rodney favored the major with a glare, relieved to see amusement in return. And for the hundred thirty-first time, wondered again just what he’d gotten himself into.

“Rodney, is there any way to find out how much radiation the jumper’s interior received?”

Back to business. “There might be some sort of sensor—I’ll have to check.” Before Carson could shoo him off, Rodney nodded and turned away. He knew where to find them when he was done. Knew John would be just fine, at least in a few days.

Around the corner and out of sight, Rodney broke into a run.

There was indeed a sensor, and it didn’t take long to find it. The readings he pulled up made Rodney wince. They meant the jumper was also contaminated, and he was being exposed as long as he was inside it. But he double-checked the numbers before dashing back out of the jumper and tapping his headset. “Carson? Sensors show the shuttle interior received about 160 Roentgens.”

“Is that bad?” He could hear Sheppard’s quiet question in the background. Carson acknowledged Rodney’s message before answering the major, but his headset stayed on, his voice a soft burr in the background as Rodney gave orders to clean up the shuttle, talked briefly with Zelenka, then hurried to his room for his own wash-down. He listened to Beckett’s explanation to John that it was just a single, moderate jolt of radiation and would simply make him sick for a day or two, possibly even with a little hair loss or soreness down the road. But it would have small, if any, long-term effects, not sterilizing or fatal ones. Mostly, Rodney added in the silence of his thoughts. It could mean cancer at age seventy-three instead of seventy-five, or the future Mrs. Sheppard having a little more trouble getting pregnant. Most likely it would have no noticeable consequences at all, and with the razor’s edge they lived on, chances were none of them would live long enough to care, anyway. The worst part would probably be the next day or two of throwing up and feeling weak and sick and like you were dying, even if the doctor said you weren’t. The body has a funny way of reacting to hard radiation. The mind had a funny way of reacting to words like “radiation.”

Rodney showered thoroughly, got rid of his clothes, and headed to the infirmary.

Sheppard had already showered, too—his hair stood up even more than usual when wet—and changed into scrubs. He was sitting slumped on a med-bed while Carson took various readings and ran tests, but brightened when Rodney walked in. Probably thought Rodney was there to make him feel better. He was only partly right.

“So, Carson,” Rodney said cheerfully, “is there any hope?”

“Oh, aye, he’ll make a complete recovery. But I expect Major Sheppard will be with us for a few days first.”

“Actually, I meant the hair. You know, it’s a real shame we didn’t think to bring a barber along on the expedition.”

That got a roll of the eyes from Carson and smaller version of that usual stupid, lopsided smile from John. Okay, not his most inspired work, Rodney knew, but give him a break, he’d been dying just a few hours earlier. Several of his people _had_ died. Rodney’s self-satisfied smile slipped.

“All right, Major, just lie back and relax. Try to get some sleep if you can. And you,” Carson pointed to Rodney, “don’t be pesterin’ him.”          

“I don’t ‘pester,’” Rodney said peevishly. “I generously share my time and presence.”

“Well, plant your _generous_ self over here and tell me how this happened.” Sheppard was lying back on the bed gingerly.

It was only that sympathy note which saved him from a scathing response. Rodney made a face but held his tongue as he hopped up onto the edge of the bed next to Sheppard’s, legs dangling, and waited until the man eased onto his side to face him. “What do you want to know?”

“How about how I got a jolt of radiation? The jumper has a shield.”

“Which wasn’t meant to take this kind or level of radiation,” Rodney explained patiently. “An exploding naquadah generator’s a lot different from ambient solar radiation, not to mention producing, oh, several dozen times more hard radiation. The jumper apparently wasn’t built to go around setting off nuclear bombs.”

“You knew this would happen?” John’s expression was a mix of accusation and…hurt.

And that, surprisingly, wounded Rodney. He blinked, taken aback. “What? No, I—no! I said the EMP was safe—it was your idea to go one better and blow up a reactor while you were at it. The fact is, we’ve never taken the jumper into a situation like that before. I had no idea the shielding would be so ineffective against radiation. Although, now that we know…”

Sheppard’s eyes shooting daggers at him.

Rodney’s bravado wilted. “I didn’t know, Major,” he said earnestly, hating this was even an issue. “I would have said something if I’d thought the jumper couldn’t take it, tried to talk you out of it, maybe have Bates sit on you if you were still determined. We weren’t desperate enough yet to risk your life. I would have thought of another way.”

Another second of silent staring, and John’s annoyance melted into sheepishness. “I know that. I just have these moments of weakness where I start believing your PR about the great Rodney McKay knowing and being able to do everything.”

“Well.” Rodney squirmed, discomfited and touched. “Even genius has its off days.”

“You still figured it out and saved everybody.”

“Not everybody,” Rodney countered quietly.

This was one of the few places they shared common ground, both of them leaders of their respective people. The major also grew muted. “How many did we lose?” We, because his scientists were John’s responsibility, too.

It suddenly occurred to Rodney he hadn’t even asked about—“Peterson?”

A grimace and shake of the head.

Rodney slumped a little more. “Then five: Wagner, Johnson, Dumais, Hays, and Peterson.”

“Dumais, was she the one you were sorta—”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yes, well, they all knew the risks, right? I mean, billions of miles from home, an alien city, new enemies…”

“Try that on somebody who doesn’t know how it feels, Rodney.”

The kind words shut him up as completely as a sharp rebuke. Rodney cast around in near desperation for a distraction, and snagged a stethoscope from a nearby table to fiddle with. Anything to keep from meeting the perceptive eyes watching him.

John shifted on the bed, and when he quietly groaned, Rodney forgot himself and looked up. He got a shrug. “Just feeling kinda sore.”

Rodney nodded, looking down again. For all his fussing about his own health, he often forgot how truly fragile humans were. They needed such a limited range of temperature and radiation and oxygen concentration to survive. Sometimes Rodney marveled they found any planets at all that were conducive to human life. And then something like this came along…

“So, my gene saved your life, huh?”

Rodney’s head snapped up. “What? Who said anything about _your_ gene?”

A smug raise of the eyebrows. “I thought your head didn’t explode because of the gene therapy.”

“Oh, so naturally it’s your gene I received?”

“Beckett said mine was the best sample he’d gotten so far.”

That grin was back. The words _cat_ and _canary_ came to mind. “You wish,” Rodney shot back, then reconsidered. “That would, however, explain my recent desire to listen to bad country music and proposition every female on the expedition. I had no idea your Captain Kirk complex was genetic.”

“No, the looks and charm are genetic. The drive comes from your own little warped mind, McKay. Too bad Beckett couldn’t give you some of the rest so you could pull it off.”

Rodney’s legs swung with the challenge. “You know, it must be nice living in the delusion that you’re as irresistible as you think you are.”

“Probably about as nice as thinking you’re God’s gift to mankind.”

“If the shoe fits—”

“How ’bout we see if it fits your mouth?”

“Rodney, are you pestering the major?” came the call from the other room.

“Yes,” they answered in chorus, then looked at each other and grinned.

Beckett’s sigh was loud enough to be heard next door.

Sheppard shifted again, obviously uncomfortable, and Rodney sobered. “Can I, uh, get you something?”

“How ’bout some more shielding on the jumper next time?”

“Radek’s already working on that,” he dismissed it with a wave. “So are you going to tell me what was going on with you and Elizabeth?”

“I already did. It was just a little—”

“You pulled rank on her, didn’t you?” Rodney smirked.

The major glowered at him. “Peterson was gonna reach the tower if somebody didn’t stop him.”

“And, of course, that had to be you.” His legs were happily swinging again.

“I am ranking military officer here,” Sheppard growled.

“Sure, sure, sure. I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of the word ‘delegate.’”

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard of the word ‘hypocrite.’” The major’s voice was flint. Rodney grinned at him.

“You know, I seem to recall Kirk always rushed in where angels feared to tread, too.”

He expected another biting comeback, and nearly missed the soft, “Pan.”

Rodney stared at the man, puzzled. “What?”

A more impatient snap of the fingers. “Pan—give me the pan.”

“Oh.” Sheppard’s pallor suddenly registered, and Rodney jumped up. “Oh!” Carson had left a few emesis basins for the inevitable nausea and where had he…? There. Rodney retrieved one from under the bed and handed it over just in time. He winced sympathetically as John emptied his stomach and then some, silently pouring a glass of water and waiting until the heaving tapered off. “Rinse,” he ordered gently.

The major did, then sagged back to the bed, breathing ragged. Rodney handed him a tissue, and with wrinkled nose, outstretched arm, and two fingers, set the basin on a table at the far side of the room. He returned in time to accept the crumpled tissue, and to wave off Carson as the doctor stuck his head in. This was what they’d been expecting, unfortunately, and there was only so much the anti-nausea drugs could do. Sleep and time were the only remedy now.

“Do you want me to get you a wet cloth?” he asked as Sheppard rubbed the back of his arm over his damp forehead.

“You gonna stroke my fevered brow, Rodney?” the major asked, voice raw.

Rodney made a face. “If you’re delusional, maybe I should get Carson.”

“No.” It was said with force.

At the thought of Beckett being summoned, or Rodney leaving to go get him? Rodney wasn’t sure but he had an idea. At a loss, he cast around for something to say. “Uh, maybe we could play some cards? Poker? Rummy? War? I’ll even let you win.”

Sheppard’s mouth quirked at that. “Thanks a lot.” He shook his head fractionally. “I think I’m just gonna get some sleep.”

“Oh. Right. Good idea. You’ll feel better when you wake up.”

The major’s look of lazy amusement returned, almost canceling the queasiness and fatigue. “I thought you weren’t that kind of doctor, Dr. McKay.”

“Voice of experience, actually.” John’s look sharpened and Rodney said defensively, “What?”

A small shake of the head. “Nothing. I don’t know why anything about you still surprises me.” He yawned. “Go get some sleep, Rodney—you said it yourself, I’m gonna be fine.”

After a few more bouts of nausea and ache that would keep waking him up. Yeah, Rodney knew how that felt, as well as how miserable it was going through it alone, feeling like you were dying and nobody cared. Of course, nobody _had_ really cared when he’d gotten a dose of radiation years before. But that wasn’t true for either of them now. “Oh, what, you thought I was here for you? I’m waiting on Carson—we’re still working on those nanoviruses.”

Another long _yeah, right_ look, then John shrugged. “I don’t know why we’re not considering the Ancients might’ve created them—they were designed not to work on Ancients.”

“They kill humans, Major.”

“Yeah, well, maybe they kill Wraith, too, and humans were just an unfortunate side effect. Maybe that’s why it never made it out of the lab.” He yawned again. “Feel like I’ve gone a few with Foreman.”

Rodney frowned. “The grill guy?”

“He’s a champion boxer, Rodney,” Sheppard said with exasperation.

“Why is that important? Never mind, just…get some sleep. It won’t bother you if I, uh…?” He gestured at the neighboring bed.

“Naw. At least you can call Beckett if I start glowing or something.”

“That only happens in—” At John’s one-eyed glare, Rodney shook his head. He understood what Sheppard wasn’t saying. “Forget it. I’ll just sit here and be quiet.”

“I doubt it,” the major grumbled, but without heat. He pulled the blanket up to his neck and snuggled into it, fighting off the chills that would be beginning any time now, and in seconds was asleep. It was one of the few military skills Rodney had ever envied.

It also left him alone with his thoughts.

Even sick, John Sheppard was sharp. They’d considered the Ancients had created the nanovirus, but the thought had been too disturbing to contemplate. A failed attempt to target the Wraith, though, that made sense. He’d have to run that one by Carson and Elizabeth.

The major groaned in his sleep, and Rodney flinched. Despite his advice to Sheppard to get as far away from the blast as possible, like John, it had been the shockwave Rodney had worried about more than the radiation. He’d just assumed the shield would take care of that part. They all had.

But John would be okay. A few days of illness and he’d be back to making Rodney’s life far more interesting than he’d ever wanted it to be. And couldn’t conceive about being without now. Maybe the body was fragile, but the spirit was strong, especially in his friend.

Who was starting to shiver in his sleep. Rodney slid off the bed again to strip the blanket from it and drape it over Sheppard. His friend. Rodney still wasn’t used to that. At its worst, like standing there waiting to hear if John had survived the blast, it sapped the spirit like nothing else he’d ever felt. But at its best, it made him stronger, too. He could at least try to return the favor.

Besides, Rodney made himself comfortable on the bed and started idly kicking again, how else was he going to keep up his reputation as God’s gift to mankind?

The End


End file.
